South Africa vs New Zealand

20 August – NELSON MANDELA BAY STADIUM, PORT ELIZABETH. 5PM Kick-off (SA Time)

After 41 years, the Springboks and New Zealand come down to the Eastern Cape to face off against each other in what is South Africa’s last opportunity to test their combinations in proper test match conditions before the Rugby World Cup kicks off on the 9^th of September (only 21 days 1 hour 19 minutes and 15seconds to go, kids – but who’s counting…)

My bags are packed and my flight is warming up as I write this, and I’m pumped! 70 000 people are descending on the windy city over the next 24 hours for what should be a cracking encounter, even though the Springboks are facing – to paraphrase All Black coach Graham Henry – a “very talented B team”.  (Notice how when South Africa select a B-side the rest of our playmates in the Tri-Nations sandpit lose their minds, start crying about disrespect, cease sending aid to the continent and point their nuclear arsenals in the general direction of Johannesburg; when they do it virtually not a word is said or printed?)

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I remember the moment like it was yesterday. The date was 03 June 1986 and I was eight years old. It was my father’s birthday and he’d acquired two tickets to a rugby match to take place at a venue called Newlands. The second ticket was intended for my mother, but she came down with the flu and the old man didn’t so much need as want a companion for the day that lay ahead. He phoned a few mates, but nobody seemed to be eager to go, so he thought it a good idea to introduce me to the game that would later shape my frame of reference.

Even as I’m writing this sentence, I know that people would question the validity of the statement. But if any of them were to ask my wife, parents or mates, they undoubtedly confirm that rugby, more importantly Western Province rugby shapes my way of thinking, always has and always will. I was crazy about the outdoors and wanted to be as active as possible, it did not matter much what I did, I just wanted things to be lively and exciting. As I think back on it now, nothing I had ever experienced up to that point could have prepared me for how animated my afternoon would eventually become. The drive there seemed to take an eternity (about forty minutes, I now know) and the level of anticipation grew as we approached the hollowed turf of the stadium. I had no idea of all this happening, naturally, but I recognize it now as the tangible sensation I’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

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I’ve always had the best laughs at people’s (mostly females) ideology about the male ego and it’s tendency to shatter at any moment. This dogma usually goes hand in hand with some form of reverse psychology, where the bird hopes that the net result would be shaming you (the hunter) into doing something you don’t feel like. This train of thought has to rank among the most lazy attempts at inflicting verbal pain/shame on a seemingly unsuspecting dude. Most males (metro or otherwise) have come to expect this onslaught from the ladies and have a couple of red, hot missiles waiting to be deployed as a way of retort. These come-backs are far less subtle and therefore far more effective. The way that they are also delivered very matter-of-factly (while resting on the couch, with a frosty, watching Super Rugby) adds dramatically to the impact of the punch.

A classic scenario would be if the queen of the manor has been nagging you for weeks to weed the garden path before an intended dinner party. You have had numerous chances to comply in the weeks leading up to the suarè, but has neglected your spouse’s pleas. Now on the actual day of the shindig, you’ve allocated just enough time to watch the game, shower, get dressed and play “host with most” to her friends from book club with their socially awkward husbands, with whom you have less than nothing in common. Your significant other has just had her hair done and the result is less than she expected, far less. (more…)

I’m cheating on my wife.

She knows this, and she’s cool with it, as long as I don’t let it interfere with my duties here at home and my commitment to our daughter as a parent and a provider.

My mistress is South African rugby, and I love her unconditionally. No matter what she does, no matter how badly she screws up, I love her all the same. I might be a bit pissed off with her for a while on a Saturday night, but I’m guaranteed to still love her come Sunday morning because a bad day with her is still better than a good day without her.

Some days all I’ll need is a quickie with the Sevens team, and other days there’s nothing better than an extended holiday for two to a faraway destination like the United Kingdom on a year-end tour or to the Antipodes for a World Cup. As long as she continues to promise to do her best to make me happy, I’ll keep on loving her, and keep on wanting to go overseas on holiday with her. I know that she might not always be able to live up to my expectations (and those expectations are high – make no mistake, when you love her like I do, nothing short of the highest expectation is acceptable) but as long as she keeps trying her best, I’ll be there for her. Yes, sometimes I’ll be disappointed, and yes, sometimes I’ll say things about her that I might regret later, but at the same time I’ll defend her to the death. Because that’s what unconditional love is all about.

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Let’s be honest – what’s really in it for Peter de Villiers?

If the Springboks don’t manage to win the Rugby World Cup, P.Divvy is going to end up shouldering most of the blame and cueing the greater majority of the rugby supporting public to start beating on that most irritating “I told you so” drum. On the other hand, should the Springboks return to South Africa with the  RWC, I’m fairly confident that credit will be spread around between the players, coaching specialists, SARFU, baggage masters, sponsors, bus drivers, and, well, you get the idea – but no mention of P.Divvy. The more cynical amongst us (and I’ve heard this one already, by the way) will say that the Springboks won the RWC despite the coach’s influence.
Shane Warne, in reaction to a question regarding the coach’s role in helping to achieve the dominance that Australian cricket enjoyed in the nineties and early 2000’s, once commented that in a team loaded with iconic players (amongst them you’ll remember was Warne, Steve Waugh and Glen McGrath to name but a few), the coach was the thing that they drove in to get to the ground from the hotel before the start of the day’s play. (more…)

It is crystal clear that “the powers that be” (read Super Sport and SARU) understand all too well the fanaticism and obsession associated with rugby and how some folks gladly schedule their lives and salaries around it. And inevitably this becomes the fire that fuels the constant search for further innovative ways to gain more out of the public and the players, with little or no regard for the consequences to either. The spectators and viewers might not feel too hard done by presently, but would they be as forgiving should the franchise they support suddenly find itself demoted to a less prestigious competition? Could SARU expect the same support for their new Currie Cup venture from the Bulls should they continue their dreadful run of form and slip into relegation-waters? To put it mildly, it will be cold day in hell!

So that begs the question, could this new format work or will it be amended to suit the needs of the more financially affluent unions? Add to this dilemma, the political pressure to create an opportunity for Cheeky Watson and his EP Kings in the amended Currie Cup and you could have a true melting pot, with genuine riots on hand. (more…)

In a scene from Quentin Tarantino’s movie Pulp Fiction, Ving Rhames tells Bruce Willis’ character that he should “throw” a boxing match or face serious consequences. He tells him that he might feel like getting up after being knocked-down, but that it’s merely pride f***ing with him, and he would do well to ignore pride. You might ask yourself why this scene from the classic cult-movie forms part of my post and what it has to do with sport. We are an extremely proud nation and pride is relevant and at the same time detrimental to Springbok rugby fans everywhere.

How quickly have we put the record loss to the Kiwis and the thumping by the Wombats behind us? How swiftly have we consoled ourselves with the explination that we were only comprehensively beaten because we sent a “B-team” to Australasia? How blindly do we stare into the the Durban night sky and await an unrealistic miracle-victory from a vastly experienced, yet untested side? Why do we put ourselves through this anguish every time? The answer is simple, a combination of pride and a national obsession to win. (more…)